Of Swords and Words
by rurouni
Summary: When can words resemble swords? When they cut you deep into the flesh...
1. One the Battousai

Of Swords and Words  
  
  
  
  
  
"I hate you!"  
  
  
  
Three words.  
  
How could they hurt so?  
  
But they did.  
  
  
  
A mother's tears.  
  
For a child who had spat the words out.  
  
For a love that had vanished.  
  
  
  
Where was the child that had once been held in her arms?  
  
Where was the child that had come running toward her, arms outstretched?  
  
Gone.  
  
  
  
In its place stood a young man.  
  
Wrathful and angry.  
  
  
  
How his words cut her so.  
  
How they hurt her.  
  
  
  
She had given up the years of her prime to bear him, take care of him.  
  
She had given up her time of solitude and quietness to raise him.  
  
She had loved him, kissed his scarred hands when he fell, comforted him after a nightmare.  
  
  
  
  
  
She knelt down, in tears.  
  
As her son, she could not think of him other than being her son, walked out.  
  
  
  
--xxx---  
  
  
  
Minutes later, another person walked in.  
  
Not, stormed in.  
  
  
  
Battousai.  
  
  
  
He had killed her husband, out in the fields.  
  
It was her turn.  
  
  
  
The woman, a spy for the Shinsengumi, met her fate.  
  
Without resistance, despite having her katana at hand beside her.  
  
  
  
For the blows of the sword would hurt her less than her son's cruel words.  
  
She knew it.  
  
  
  
And knew that the coming death would bring reprieve.  
  
Reprieve from the pain in her heart.  
  
  
  
Her life was a small price to pay for peace.  
  
  
  
Battousai's katana came slicing down.  
  
Blood splattered.  
  
  
  
There was silence.  
  
  
  
Her face was the last thing the hitokiri saw as he left the house.  
  
Her upturned face.  
  
  
  
Battousai would later recall that hers was the most peaceful face he had ever seen on a person he had killed.  
  
  
  
~ Owari  
  
  
  
--xxx--  
  
  
  
Author's Notes:  
  
Sometimes, words can hurt more than the blade of a sword can.  
  
Think about it. 


	2. Two the Rurouni

Of Swords and Words II  
  
  
  
"I hate you!"  
  
  
  
Three words.  
  
How could they hurt so?  
  
But they did.  
  
  
  
Himura Kenshin looked at the man in front of him.  
  
Who had uttered those words in rage. In despair.  
  
  
  
Silently, the Battousai bowed his head.  
  
No, he was no longer the Battousai.  
  
He was Himura. Himura Kenshin.  
  
  
  
He looked at the man in front of him.  
  
Whose eyes flashed in an unconsolable rage, whose hand gripped the katana as though it were life itself.  
  
  
  
"I hate you!"  
  
  
  
Yukishiro Enichi.  
  
His sister was Tomoe. Kenshin's deceased wife.  
  
  
  
Silence.  
  
  
  
But the pain continued eating away at Kenshin's soul. Devouring it with gusto.  
  
  
  
--xx---  
  
  
  
She had been everything to him. A mother, a sister, a friend.  
  
His life had been nothing without her.  
  
  
  
Yet, he had taken her away. The man who said he loved her had taken her away.  
  
That, he could not forgive.  
  
  
  
And that day in the forest, a chilling hatred grew.  
  
Consumed him. Fired him up. For revenge.  
  
  
  
"I hate you!"  
  
  
  
--xx---  
  
  
  
Swords clashed.  
  
  
  
If he had been fighting for himself, maybe he would have let himself be killed.  
  
  
  
But he was not.  
  
  
  
"I hate you!"  
  
  
  
Those words hurt him. But he fought on.  
  
Knowing that the lives of his friends, the people who loved him and whom he loved in return, depended on it.  
  
  
  
"I hate you!"  
  
  
  
Would Tomoe scream those words at him like her brother said she would?  
  
  
  
In a brief glance at the sky, in a vivid memory of her smile, he knew otherwise.  
  
  
  
~Owari 


	3. Three the father

Of Swords and Words III  
  
  
  
  
  
"I hate you!"  
  
  
  
Three words.  
  
How could they hurt so?  
  
But they did.  
  
  
  
Each and every time.  
  
Each and every time someone shouted, screamed, uttered them.  
  
To him.  
  
  
  
A duel. A face-off. A one-on-one.  
  
Eyes that spoke volumes about a hatred that had taken root so deep it hurt.  
  
And more so if it were removed.  
  
  
  
Sword-hand ready; muscles tensed.  
  
Ears that heard nothing but an eerie, mysterious chanting.  
  
Hatred had taken over.  
  
  
  
The strike.  
  
Hearts that were iced, immune to feeling.  
  
Consumed by the cold fire of hatred.  
  
  
  
He had come face to face with such men and women over the years.  
  
And had come to see such encounters as atonement.  
  
Atonement for his deeds as Battousai.  
  
  
  
Yet, the words had never stopped slashing away at his heart each time he heard them.  
  
They told of a heart shattered by the death of a family member at the hands of the Battousai.  
  
They told of unhealed scars in a person's mind, caused by the Battousai.  
  
  
  
And now, he heard them from his son.  
  
His son.  
  
His flesh and blood.  
  
  
  
Himura Kenji's eyes burned with rage.  
  
A rage so terrifying it brought coldness into the heart of the fearless swordsman.  
  
A rage that chilled the bones of the man who was once known as the greatest killer of all.  
  
  
  
Himura Kenshin remembered his past, and saw himself in his son.  
  
The same fears. The same anger.  
  
The same killing rage.  
  
  
  
With resignation, Himura Kenshin had taken on every one of those who sought to kill him.  
  
Unnerved them with his quiet acceptance, his unwillingness to kill.  
  
And now, he faced his son.  
  
  
  
His life had never been more dependent on the outcome of a fight.  
  
And yet, Himura Kenshin was helpless.  
  
Utterly helpless, as he stared into the eyes of the son he almost didn't recognise.  
  
  
  
Could love be taught?  
  
  
  
An inner voice answered him,  
  
No, but it can be shown.  
  
  
  
~owari 


End file.
